


Protect your heart.

by arc_el_ion



Series: Your Heart [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Alternating, Persona 5 Protagonist is from Inaba, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Canon, Whump, akechi the homophobic homosexual, brief reference to past suicide, gonna add more tags as the story progresses, the interrogation room kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arc_el_ion/pseuds/arc_el_ion
Summary: After following the trail of letters Akira left behind for him in Tokyo, Akechi travels to Inaba with the intention of repaying his debt. Things do not go as planned.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Your Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025047
Comments: 71
Kudos: 163





	1. some really cool name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akechi POV

* * *

_XXXXX STREET, #XX_

_INABA, NAGANO_

_736-0012_

_Don’t keep me waiting, detective._

* * *

Akechi stacks the letters he’s read and reread neatly back together, or at least as well as he can on a moving train. Slides the collection into his inner coat pocket. Leans his head back on the cushioned seat and sighs. 

Of course Akira would be the type to turn anything and everything into a game. Even something as simple as wanting to repay his debt, he just had to go and make it difficult for him. Well, in the end, all that mattered was that he got the address. All the while successfully avoiding anyone who might’ve recognized him. 

The sound of the rain hitting the moving train like a million glass pellets helps him center himself back to present reality. His mind has been restless these past few months, never satisfied with the moment he’s living in but never knowing what he would want that moment to be if given the choice. He pulls out an unused flip phone he’s been carrying around. It’s a completely anonymous piece of tech. Almost completely useless, too. Out of boredom, he starts playing with the thing, flipping it open and snapping it back shut. Flip... snap. Flip, snap. Flip...

_“Inaba. This is Inaba Station.”_

...snap.

* * *

* * *

It’s a short walk under the light rain from the station to the modest little house. It’s simple, respectable. Painfully average. 

He walks up to the door, trying to somewhat shelter himself from the rain under the overhang, and rings the doorbell. He uses the small window of time to adjust his coat, pull his gloves on a bit more tightly, tug at the scarf around his neck. Might as well make a good first impression. Third time’s the charm…? 

The doorknob clicks.

“Good morn - oh my god.”

Kurusu hasn’t changed much - which makes sense, it’s only been a few months - it had felt longer. But now here he is, standing in front of him. Slack-jawed, wide-eyed Kurusu who’s holding onto his doorknob like it’s the last thing tethering him to this reality. Akechi isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing. Kurusu slowly lets go of the doorknob, shifting his weight back to his feet. His expression unmoving, Kurusu reaches an arm out. His fingers brush Akechi’s cheek. Then move to his neck, his pulse point.

“Oh my god.”

Why is he repeating himself? Why isn’t he doing anything? Why is he touching him?

“What are y-”

He’s cut off as Kurusu wraps his arms around him and _squeezes_ . At the feeling of touch, his skin crawls, his mind short-circuits, and all he can think is _don’t touch me_. He shoves Kurusu off, hissing at him.

“ _What_ are you doing?” 

Akira steps back, mouth now closed, thank god. Something flashes behind his eyes, Akechi isn’t sure what. The next moment it’s gone, and Kurusu takes a step back, readjusting his glasses.

“Uh - sorry. I’m just... processing.” his eyes move back to Akechi’s, unabashedly staring, “ _...you’re alive.”_

“That appears to be the case.”

Kurusu actually snorts at that, his expression shifting in half a second. Somehow. He’s as incomprehensible as ever, then.

“Isn’t that exactly what you said on christmas eve? Kinda unoriginal.”

Akechi glares at him. Kurusu laughs _again._

“Okay, okay, just, wait there a sec. I’ll be right back.”

Before Akechi can protest, Kurusu has closed the door again. He hears the sound of steps running up the stairs. Then back down. The door swings open, Kurusu now wearing a jacket and holding two umbrellas. He shoves one to Akechi’s chest before walking straight past him.

“Okay, c’mon, follow me.”

Kurusu turns onto the street, never once checking back to make sure he’s following, as if there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Akechi would follow. 

Akechi huffs. Readjusts his grip on his attaché case. Unfolds his umbrella and follows.

* * *

* * *

They end up at the Samegawa Flood Plain. Kurusu approaches a nearby bench next to a tree, but only stands next to it, probably coming to the conclusion that sitting on the wet bench isn’t a good idea. Akechi opts to lean on the tree, his coat acting as a sturdy enough barrier between the wet bark and himself.

“Why are we here, Kurusu?”

“Good place to talk. Better than my doorway, at least. Plus, Mona’s in my room.”

Akechi makes a sound of acknowledgment. Then Kurusu grins, and leans forward, almost conspiratorially.

“Okay, I need to know - bathhouse or aquarium?”

Akechi refuses to respond to that.

“Ahh, the aquarium, then.”

Before Kurusu can start spouting whatever other nonsense is currently residing in his mind, Akechi pulls a ripped little piece of paper out of his coat pocket, keeping it under his umbrella to save it from the rain.

“This,” He holds the piece of paper out, “is my phone number. You’re the only one who has access to it. I ask that it stay that way.”

He’s staring straight into Kurusu’s soul, refusing to let him turn his attention to anything that isn’t Akechi. He’s been reciting what he’s about to say the entire train ride here.

“Kurusu, I recognize that I am indebted to you. I intend to repay that debt. Should you ever need me, contact me through that number, and I will assist you, no matter how you may need. Ideally, I would be making you indebted to me by the end of this. However, I recognize that the best thing I can do for you - for either of us - is to remove myself from your life. I will keep this phone on me at all times. But once my debt is repaid, I will get rid of it. Should you choose never to contact me again, I will assume my debt has been paid through my absence.”

Kurusu stares at him, expression unreadable. He opens his mouth, about to say something, and Akechi is overwhelmed with the need to finish what he has to say before he can cut him off.

“That’s all I had to say. I’ll be taking my leave now. Goodbye, Kurusu.”

He leans back off the tree, and takes a step forward, but before he can walk any further Kurusu stands in front of him, blocking his way. His expression is more legible now... ah. Anger.

“Akechi. What exactly was it about me writing you a series of letters, pouring my heart into each and every one of them, and leaving them in places that make me think of you that had you come to the conclusion I never wanted to see you again?”

He says nothing, once again confused by Kurusu. Why would he want Akechi in his life? How could that possibly benefit him? In front of him, Kurusu brings a hand up to his forehead, partially running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“Did you even read - of course you did, you couldn’t be here if - _how_ are you this stupid??”

Akechi reacts to that last part, mouth open to protest, but Kurusu cuts him off yet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not stupid, I know. It’s just... frustrating.” Akira’s expression softens, his eyes filling with exhaustion. His voice is softer, yet his words somehow ring more clearly. “Why won’t you believe me when I say you’re important to me?”

That stuns him back into silence. Why? Because he isn’t important to anyone. Because Kurusu can’t be telling the truth. Because...

“Because I can’t be.”

Before Kurusu can say anything again, he shoves past him, determined to run back to the damn train station if it meant he could get away from this conversation as soon as possible. Before he can even finish that thought he feels a hand grab his wrist.

“Akechi, please.”

Despite himself, he turns back to look at the boy. And immediately regrets it. Akira’s expression is sorrowful, desperate. Why does he want him to stay this bad? The thought of staying near Akira starts settling into Akechi’s heart, warming it with excitement. He pushes it far away.

When Akechi pulls his arm away, Kurusu lets him. But he hasn't given up just yet.

“Stay the weekend. Think of it as repaying your debt. You said you’d do anything. Stay the weekend.”

He halts in the few steps he’d taken. Akechi wants to sneer, mockingly ask Kurusu if he was really so idiotic as to ask for his temporary presence for the single favor he’s been promised. But if there’s one thing he knows about Kurusu, it’s that the boy knows what he wants. Just another little trait in the neverending list of what makes Kurusu better than him. He feels his face contort into a sneer, but doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He’s done acting. And, after all, he is a man of his word.

“Fine.”

* * *

* * *

“Your room number is #118. Thank you for choosing the Amagiya Hotel!”

Akechi takes the keys the receptionist left on the marble counter. Kurusu had offered for him to stay in his guest room, but he’d immediately refused, wanting to keep as much distance as he could. Things never turned out well when he stayed too close to the boy for too long. Speaking of, Kurusu is standing behind him. When he turns around, he’s greeted with a beautifully serene smile. The sky was dark out, and the warm lights of the hotel accentuated the curves of his face, all drawing attention to those piercing steel eyes. The smile brightened his eyes, and yet somehow, they looked so sad. Or maybe he’s just tired.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then?”

“Well I won’t be going very far. If you want to see me, I’m sure you will, regardless of what I say.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Akechi turns back, eager to get into his room and finally be alone. The boy always puts him on edge for some reason. 

_For many reasons._

“Oh - hey, Akechi! How about I bring you some breakfast tomorrow?”

Akechi glances over his shoulder as he keeps walking to call back a reply.

“Do what you want, Kurusu.”

“I will _also_ be taking that as a yes!”

When he hears the hotel doors swing shut, Akechi sighs, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He reaches room #118, and unlocks it, stepping inside, analyzing. Fairly spacious for a single, very clean, modest bathroom and shower to the side. Acceptable. He sets his attaché case down on the side of his futon, sets his coat and shoes next to that, retrieves and changes into his sleep shirt. He sets the flip phone on his bedside table, though now that Akira’s wasted his debt on this stupid weekend, he really no longer has any use for it. Even though he’s a light sleeper, he passes out almost as soon as his head hits the mattress. It’s been a long and unusual day, after all.

* * *

* * *

Akechi snaps out of his dreamless sleep to the sound of tires screeching to a halt somewhere outside. He checks his phone - 4 unread messages - 3:11 a.m. Panic grows at his core and starts spreading, right to the end of his fingertips. He gently pushes his window open, immediately feeling the hit of the cool night air on his skin. It’s stopped raining. He hears the clack of car doors. Steady, confident steps.

He shoves his pants back on, not bothering with his dress shirt but putting his shoes and coat back on as well. His hands tremble slightly as he snatches the pistol in his attaché case. The sounds of the world are drowned out by an ever-growing ringing in his ears, and he has to start forcing himself to breathe. He heads to the bathroom - then remembers Kurusu. Grabs the hotel notepad and pen that had been sitting on the bedside table. Flees to the bathroom, shuts the door. He holds his pistol in lightly-trembling hands.

* * *

* * *

A cheap flip phone lies on the floor of an empty hotel room. Next to it, a metal briefcase with a dent in one of the edges. Next to that, a bullet hole ruining what was once an inviting duvet. Blood on the floor. Four unread messages.

10:58 - hey, akechi? I just wanted to say im really glad you’re staying the weekend.

11:29 - oh, by the way, do u prefer apple juice or coffee in the morning?

11:30 - just kidding I'm too good at coffee NOT to make it

11:52 - im gonna assume you passed out early. sleep well :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> fun fact! 11 and 8 are the numbers that represent the Justice, depending on the tarot deck. hence, room #118.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/princekirijo)!


	2. an equally cool name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira POV

“Are you seriously bringing breakfast to _that_ guy?”

Mona jumps onto the kitchen counter, landing right next to the two bento boxes Akira is currently topping up with fresh white rice. He turns his attention back to the stove.

“Gimme a break, Mona. I literally just found out yesterday that he’s actually alive. And 100% not a cognition.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that he tried to murder you.”

“Key word : _tried.”_

For a cat, Mona’s dramatic eye roll is very impressive. Akira chuckles, sliding one fried egg from the pan into each bento. The house is quiet this morning, as it is most days. His father works as the manager of the corner grocery store that’s open 24/7/365, and his mother is always in her home office, hard at work managing her small business. Akira wouldn’t call them neglectful - they did care, in their own way. They felt more like distant friends than actual parents, though. Most of Akira’s positive childhood memories were with his babysitter. It’d been lonely when that girl had moved on to college. But now isn’t the time to linger on the past - no, he’s got a living paradox to bring breakfast to. He picks up both bentos, two cups, and a thermos filled with the coffee he’d made earlier that morning.

“See you, Mona. That is, if I don’t get killed by the _spooky murderer_ before I make it back.”

“Don’t make jokes like that, Akira.”

He feels a pang of guilt at that - there’s genuine worry in Mona’s voice.

“You’re right - sorry, Mona.” He opens the door with his most-free hand, letting the cold morning air seep in momentarily, “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

* * *

The Amagiya hotel is fairly empty this early on a Saturday. Akira walks past reception, towards the room Goro was staying in - #118. Eventually he finds it near the end of one of the halls. He takes a deep breath, places the thermos on the ground next to him, and uses his newly-freed hand to knock. He’d expected some snarky sound of acknowledgement, maybe a very resigned-looking Akechi wordlessly opening the door, maybe a good ol’ “fuck off”. What he had _not_ expected was the door, apparently unlocked, lightly partially swinging open. Akira can feel worry start creeping in, his pulse slightly quickening - but surely, it was nothing. He pushes the door open further.

The room is completely unrecognizable from the Amagiya standard single Akira knows so well - blood on the floor, bedside lamp knocked over, Akechi’s dented attaché case abandoned on the floor, the flip phone lying next to the broken glass of the lamp’s lightbulb, and is that a bullet hole in the duvet…?

Panic. Akira places the bag of bentos on the floor. He lets his feet take him to the bathroom. There’s blood there, too. The glass of the mirror is cracked, all the lines originating from a distinctly head-sized dent. His ears are ringing, maybe. Is he still sleeping? Reception - he should go warn them. He turns around, knowing full well that he isn’t actually dreaming. He holds onto the comforting notion just a little bit longer. 

He catches something out of the corner of his eye right before he leaves the bathroom - on the wall, next to the doorframe - a pair of sticky notes.

* * *

Shido’s men found me. RUN don’t 

let them catch you don’t you dare follo w

* * *

This handwriting is almost unrecognizable - frantic, messy, uneven, the line of text running on from one sticky note to the next - but he still recognizes it as Akechi’s. 

* * *

* * *

The next moments pass by like a slideshow of photographs burned onto a movie reel. The walk to reception, holding a bag of uneaten bentos in one hand and a thermos of coffee in the other. The look on the receptionist’s face. The screams. The police sirens. The investigation team. A stern man - Dojima, or something - took him back to the station. They just had to ask him a few questions, then he’d be free to go.

_Do you have a criminal record, young man? Why were you at the scene? What was your connection to the guest in room #118? Do you know of any grudges anyone may have held against them?_

He would’ve woken up by now if this was a dream. Yet he still feels removed from reality, like a spectator to his own life, watching a puppet with his face go through the motions. That’s all they needed from him, _thank you very much for your time_. The ringing has quieted down. Akira wishes it hadn’t - now there was nothing left to block out his thoughts. Nevertheless, he can hear the police sirens and the other cars driving by when he walks out into the cold, foggy air and numbly lets muscle memory walk him home.

He isn’t paying much attention to the world. He feels stupid, carrying the long-cold breakfast. The bag digs into his loose grip - Akira focuses on that. There are still police cars headed up to the Amagiya hotel, some followed by sleek black cars. Akira turns from the main road into a more residential area. The fog doesn’t bother him much, but it’s especially heavy today. He can still see, but the humidity from yesterday’s rain hangs heavy in the air. He needs to come up with a plan, needs to save Akechi. He’d written in his note for him not to follow him, but he should’ve known Akira couldn’t live with himself if he did nothing about this. He turns back momentarily to look at the Amagiya hotel up the hill, and in doing so, notices one of the sleek black cars just further down the street. That’s odd, the road to the hotel is the other way…

He’s just on edge. He’s overthinking, it’s just a car. Still, Akira turns onto a street that is most definitely not on his way home. The car turns with him. It’s probably nothing - probably - but just in case, he can’t run, can’t give himself away. He needs to get home, get back to Mona. He turns onto one of the more populated streets, hoping for witnesses. 

The car turns with him.

There’s no doubt in his mind now. He drops everything he was holding and sprints. The car speeds up behind him. The world is drowned out by the sheer adrenaline coursing through his veins, the white noise of the air rushing past him centering him to the moment. Something shatters the white noise for a moment - a gunshot. His legs pick up the pace. Before the white noise can fully settle back in, it’s broken by another shot, and replaced with a harsh ringing in his ears. There’s something - wrong - his thigh -

Pain sears through him. He falls on the cement - it still smells like rain - the car. He drags himself back up, desperately looking for an escape, any escape - and by some miracle, there it is. Narrow stairs leading up the hill between the houses, impossible for a car to follow him into. 

He limps to them, each step sending shockwaves of pain up his spine, but that doesn’t matter right now, he reaches them before the car reaches him. He starts dragging himself up, leaning most of his weight on the railing. The steps are still humid. He’s about halfway up the stairs when he sees, at the top end of the stairs, a sleek, black car. Clacking of doors. Figures walking down the top of the stairs. Akira spins around - maybe he can make it back down - and sees more figures approach.

There’s no escaping, no running, he’s outnumbered, severely injured, but he didn’t become the leader of the Phantom Thieves by accepting defeat. He keeps leaning his weight on the railing, but he turns himself so his back is leaning on the railing and he has his hands free, to do something, anything. The men from both ends reach him at about the same time. He throws a punch at one who came from the top - it’s weak. He wheezes as he’s punched in the gut, hard. He tries reaching for the gun holster of one of the men who’d come from the original car - feels a foot trip his good leg - and the last thing he sees is a close-up of the stairs, and the last thing he hears is cruel, sadistic laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mona's gonna be waiting a long time :)
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://princekirijo.tumblr.com/)!


	3. woah another kickass name crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira POV
> 
> CW : non-consensual drug use. interrogation room style <3

When he finally comes to, there’s a dull pounding in his head and a painful pressure in his thigh. The entirety of his body aches, and he’s cold, and his mouth is dry, his tongue sitting uncomfortably against - oh, that’s a gag. He feels the fabric against his tongue, desperately wishes he could bite down and close his mouth. He knows better than to try. Slowly, he regains feeling in his arms - they’re hard pressed against the cold metal of the chair. His hands are tied. He tries wriggling out of the binds, moving his arms around uselessly. He knows it’s futile, and the movement sends more jolts of pain through his nervous system, but he feels the need to try.

He forces his heavy eyelids open to take in the scene around him. It’s dark, almost too dark to see. The air is freezing. It smells like dust and mold. There’s a single light source - a sliver of light blue coming from the ground level, under what must be a garage door. Is he alone? He looks around, scanning for something, someone, anyone, any nearby threat. 

What he sees instead is one Goro Akechi, in the exact same predicament he’s in. He can see now that the metal chairs they’re stuck to are bolted to the floor. The shock of seeing Akechi rips him out of his half-awake state. That sudden awareness immediately brings back the agony of the gunshot in his thigh. He looks down at it - it isn’t bleeding, but it isn’t bandaged either. He stares at Akechi, who stares back. Neither of them can talk and neither of them can move, so what follows is a poor (and slightly hilarious) attempt at a non-verbal conversation.

Akira furrows his eyebrows intensely. _(What’s going on?)_

Akechi furrows his eyebrows too, his eyes full of anger. _(Why are you here?!)_

Akira widens his eyes, dramatically glances to the garage door, then looks back. _(Is anyone out there?)_

Akechi’s expression neutralizes somewhat - exasperation. Defeat...?

Akira furrows his eyebrows again, raising one. _(Are you okay?)_

Akechi looks away. A dismissal.

Akira can’t force Akechi to look back at him, though he really wishes he could. He keeps staring at the boy, hoping to telepathically communicate to him through sheer willpower. Then the garage door is flung open, the metal indents clacking as they each fold into the ceiling. Akira is blinded by the outer light. It’s not even daytime - the only light source is a nearby street lamp - but his eyes had adjusted to the pitch black of the room.

He hears the footsteps before his eyes fully adjust to the sight of 3 figures standing before them. Two of them are holding guns. One of them steps forward, a distinct aura of smugness about him.

“Gentlemen, today we have in our company a traitor and a criminal. Though I suppose one of you is both of those things - my apologies, Akechi-kun. I suppose we should find a second title for the other as well, then? How about… some poor teenage boy way in over his head?”

Akira glares at him, too exhausted to think tactically. From what he can tell of the situation, his facial expressions won’t be having much of an impact on the outcome anyway. Who the hell is this man giving this speech to? Is it for his own entertainment? Even his coworkers - or subordinates, or whatever - they don’t seem very entertained.

“Well, dearest leader of the Phantom Thieves, congratulations! You have successfully killed Shido. In his stead stands a barely functioning mumbling mess of what was once a great man. And Akechi-kun, why… how convenient that Shido died before he could take you out himself. Was it nice, holding the blade as you stabbed us in the back?”

The man grins cruelly, laughter in his voice. 

“Foolish boy. We hold the dagger now.”

Akira looks over at Akechi. The boy is staring intently at the ground, expression illegible.

“Did you two really think you’d be free after murdering Shido? The only man who could bring Japan to economic and cultural prosperity? Oh - that’s right. You can’t speak, not as you are. Though I doubt scum like you would have any interesting last words, anyway.”

Akira can feel the throbbing pain in his thigh start to match the pain echoing in his chest from the beating of his heart. It had been pretty clear, but to actually hear it - their last words -

“In case you haven’t understood by now, these are your final moments. You will die for your crimes, and for your foolishness.”

Akira’s mind blanks. Is this really it? He’s never felt more helpless. And he’d killed a _god_ for fuck’s sake. He hears the clicking of metal, the sound of the barrel of a pistol being pulled back. He closes his eyes, hoping they take him out in one shot. Then he hears something else - an odd, breathy sound. Muffled. Akechi…? As it grows, he recognizes it as laughter. He opens his eyes again to look to his side - the agents are looking at him too, whispering amongst themselves. Akechi’s laughing so violently that he’s shaking, shoulders moving harshly against the metal chair. 

_“What is he doing -”_

_“I dunno, what should we do..?”_

_“What’s wrong with him -”_

One of the subordinates walks up to Akechi. Unties the back of his gag, rips it out of his mouth. Yells at him - _what the hell is wrong with you_ \- as Akechi’s laughter finally dies down. The man who’d been giving the monologue looks furious at the interruption.

“What’s so _funny._ ”

Akechi grins like a madman. Akira is reminded distantly of the crazed way in which he’d fought as the black mask. It’s terrifying. Mesmerizing.

“Ah… it’s just hilarious to think you would throw away your only chance at getting the Shido you know back. All in exchange for petty revenge. Though I guess that one’s on me: I expected too much.”

What the hell is he talking about, getting the Shido they know back? They’d stolen his heart, there was no going back. The agent in charge growls at Akechi, taking a menacing step forward.

“What the hell are you talking about, boy.”

“Hearts can be restored just as they can be stolen. And, well, we’re the only ones who can access the metaverse anymore.”

The agent falters at that, clearly unsure of what to do with this information. What is he talking about, _restoring hearts,_ and - oh. Akira realizes. The main agent snarls at Akechi.

“Never understood that goddamn metaverse bullshit. Fine. We’ll bring _you,_ ” he points at Akechi, “straight to the lab, so you won’t even _dream_ of escaping. The other, we have no need for. Take him out.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Akechi sounds so calm. Akira wonders if he genuinely doesn’t feel the gut-curling fear he does, or if he has simply become a master at pretending. He doesn’t know which one scares him more. 

“And _why_ wouldn’t I want to do that, Akechi?”

“Restoring a heart is a two-person job. I need him alive and in stable condition if we are to have any chance at restoring Shido’s heart.”

The agent scoffs. Brings the gun up to Akechi’s face. The boy doesn’t even blink.

“You’re bluffing. Pushing your damn luck too, kid. I’m not a patient man. How about we cut the bullshit?”

“Fine, kill me. Or kill him. Spend the rest of your life knowing you traded Shido’s life for some momentary satisfaction.”

The agent holds the gun there for a moment. Brings it back a bit, looks contemplatively to the side. Grunts in frustration, strikes Akechi violently across the face with the metal instrument. The agent turns away, back to the garage door. Akira can hear him furiously mumbling under his breath.

_“Always hated that damn brat -”_

He makes a motion with his hand, and one of the other agents comes up to Akechi, shoving the gag back in his mouth and tying it once more. The rest of the main agent’s mumbling is unintelligible as the man reaches into a car that had been waiting outside - Akira had failed to notice that - and comes back holding a small, light-weight briefcase. He walks past the chairs to where the other two agents are waiting, leaving his field of view momentarily. He feels steps approach from behind. The next moment a cloth is smothering his face and he squirms in his bonds, unwillingly breathing in the strong scent of chloroform as he watches the world in front of him drown into a sea of nothing.

* * *

* * *

When he comes to, he’s met with almost the exact same scene he’d been met with the first time, however long ago that was. He looks over to Akechi - he seems to still be out of it. There’s a distinctly dark bruise forming on his cheekbone. Akira knows his entire body is in pain, but the only sensation his overworked nervous system can muster is the dull throbbing spreading from the gun wound in his thigh. Speaking of, his damaged thigh is now securely bandaged. He wonders what Shido’s men are going to do with them next - oh, that’s right. The research center. Akira drags his gaze to Akechi’s hunched body and stays there, observing in awe.

How had he done that? How had he lied so convincingly, acted completely unbothered? Was he really so desensitized to violence of this kind? Had he played the role of the agent in a situation like that before? Memories of the interrogation room hit him like he’s been plunged into the freezing arctic water. Had he been his first hit outside of the metaverse? His last? Did it matter? No, right now, it didn’t matter. The agents had said they were going to kill him. And somehow, Akechi stopped that too. He stares hard at the boy, trying to burn through him with the intensity of his stare, as if that would answer any of his questions. Akechi’s eyelids flutter open. Akira rips his eyes away.

The very next second, the rickety garage door is thrown open and some other agents - Akira can’t tell if they’re the same ones - approach them. Two of them stride to Akira, each grabbing one of Akira’s arms and yanking him up off the metal chair. The sudden movement almost has him falling over, his injured leg unable to handle much pressure. The agents keep a strong hold on him, and Akira forces his head to the side, to Akechi. He’s thrashing about, trying to scream something at them, though it only comes out as angry muffling. They don’t remove his gag this time around. Akira recognizes the same agent who’d been talking before as he steps into view. He brings out another small briefcase, opens it, and inside are… a line of neatly stacked needles.

Akira is flooded with dread. Flashbacks of that day come to him - some photographic, some phantom sensations of pain, some invisible whispers. He starts fighting against the restraints, he has to leave, he can’t do this again, not again - 

His head is slammed into the front of the car. A strong hand holds him there and he’s being pressed against the car, rendering his legs useless. Akira tries thrashing under the hold even though he knows the effort is futile, but he can’t breathe, he can’t do this again, _he can’t -_

He feels the sting of a needle at the back of his neck, and a burning pain as the liquid is forced into his bloodstream. He wants to scream, but he can’t move his muscles, can’t get his vocal chords to even produce a muffled whine against the gag.

He’s grateful when the world finally fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal in life is to make you suffer as you smile.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://princekirijo.tumblr.com/)!


	4. bro these chapter names slap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akechi POV
> 
> CW : car crash! :) oh and also ref to suicide

He’s running. 

Goro doesn’t think too hard on it - there’s a figure escaping him ahead, and he needs to get to it, needs to squeeze every last breath out of it. His legs won’t move like he wants them to, but they have to, they _have_ to because if they don’t it will all have been for nothing. What was it that he’d done again…?

He shoots a glance down to his hands - his left is gripping a familiar pistol, both hands are bare and covered in blood - and the next moment he’s falling onto invisible ground in an infinitely dark expanse. He needs to find his gloves, he needs to cover his hands. There are doors, doors everywhere, and he knows his gloves are behind one of them. But they’re all locked, all of them except the one at the end of the corridor. Goro fumbles with his apartment keys, his hands small and clumsy, and approaches the growing door - or is he shrinking? - clumsily fits the key in the lock, twists. An all-too-familiar arm is draped over the edge of an all-too-familiar bathtub. Blood is dripping from the end of her hand, dropping into the now-flooded apartment, water turned pink. 

_Drop, drop, drop._

Goro turns and runs as fast as his useless legs will take him, far, far away, until he’s panting for breath and his vision is blurry.

He jumps when a hand caresses his chin, gently turning his head to the side - Kurusu. His steel eyes are transfixed on him. He says nothing, simply holds Goro’s face with one hand and stares. Goro takes a shaky breath, relishing the moment of peace. Blossoms of purple and scratches of red start forming on Kurusu’s face, a growing smile breaking his previously neutral expression. The mark of a bullet splits his forehead as blood starts pouring down, down his face, down into his now-grinning mouth. Goro tries ripping his face away but Kurusu’s grip is unyielding. Blood trickles down his arm, and his head keeps bleeding, it won’t stop bleeding, the blood reaches his face, his mouth, his lungs, he’s drowning, he’s dying, but it’s _painful, so painful -_

_-ke up w-_

_-ake up. Wake up._

_WAKE UP._

He isn’t dying. 

There’s no blood in his mouth. 

No, but there is a gag. 

His eyes aren’t submerged. 

So he opens them.

It takes a moment for the black around the corner of his vision to fade. The back of a car seat slowly comes into focus. The low rumbling of the engine as an agent drives (alone, no one’s in the passenger seat - noted) may have been comforting in another context. He shifts his gaze to the window. The world is submerged in darkness, but he can still make out the trees passing by. Something flashes momentarily in his peripheral vision, he turns to it. It’s the side mirror. There are headlights behind them - another car tailing them, then. Makes sense. They wouldn’t want anything to go wrong.

Well, it’s too bad the manifestation of his true self is the god of chaos. A shame, really.

He looks to the side. Kurusu. He’s knocked out, it seems. There’s an outline of fog on the window outlining the silhouette of his head, hard pressed to the glass. His hands are bound and resting uncomfortably behind his back, similarly to Akechi’s. Oh - they fastened the seatbelts for them. How thoughtful. Unfortunately, it seems they’d forgotten to tie their legs. 

He looks to the front of the car - the digital clock reads 3:18 - and sees that the driver is completely focused on the road. Quietly, he moves a leg to Kurusu’s side. He feels his shoe make contact with his ankle. Gently shoves.

He doesn’t budge.

Akechi continues nudging Kurusu’s ankle until it gets to a point where, out of frustration, he attempts a light kick. Kurusu grumbles, readjusts himself on the window. Doesn’t open his fucking eyes. He’d already pushed his luck with the kick - luckily, the driver didn’t notice - and Kurusu won’t snap out of it. Fine. New plan, then.

The car’s moving differently than before. Akechi chances a glance out the window. It seems they’re still in some kind of forest, but they’re now heading up a hill. The road is winding through the trees, sharp turn after sharp turn. Though his hands are still bound, Akechi manages to get the tips of his fingers on the seatbelt’s clip.

…

_Now._

**CLICK**

The driver makes some sound, confused, turns his head back to investigate at the very same time that Akechi shoves his leg forward, foot reaching and finally connecting with the wheel. Twists it to the side as violently as his awkward angle of attack allows him. Turns out that isn’t much. The driver doesn’t scream, but he’s clearly panicked, he reaches behind the rearview mirror - there’s probably an alarm button of some sort there - before grabbing Akechi’s leg with one arm while wrestling the wheel with the other. The car is swerving violently, the driver unable to completely shove off Akechi’s leg (cycling was an advantage), Akechi unable to completely twist the wheel given the resistance. They’re fast approaching the end of the road, there’s another sharp turn waiting there but the car just keeps swerving along the winding road, neither the driver nor Akechi able to dominate and take control. The driver veers the wheel to the side when they reach the end of the road, a desperate final attempt to regain control.

The car veers to the side, but not enough, and the forward momentum is too strong, and the next moment the car has flown off the road, the frail railing hugging the curve utterly destroyed, and they’re turning in the air, the car’s flipped over, and he throws himself over Akira who _still hasn’t woken up because_ **_he can’t die -_ **

There’s a sickening crunch as the top metal of the car is crushed in by the forest ground. Kurusu’s seatbelt must’ve given way because the boy is lying on top of Akechi, collapsed on what used to be the car roof. Kurusu’s awake now. His eyes are wide but he’s quiet as ever. The gag probably helps. Akechi shoves him off to the side. His ears are ringing from the crash and the pain of colliding against the car roof while acting as Kurusu’s cushion. He moves his body, ignoring his muscles screaming at him to stop. Looks at Akira, widens his eyes, nods in the direction of his face. Akira furrows his eyebrows. Akechi makes some disgruntled noise into the gag, and manages to position the back of his head to Kurusu’s bound hands.

_Come on, understand._

Relief floods through him as he feels a light tug at the back of his gag. He pulls forward, freeing himself. He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, re-working his jaw, swallowing nothing, getting rid of the terribly dry feeling in his throat. His voice is scratchy, somewhat shaky but somehow still commanding.

“H-hands.”

He rearranges himself once more, giving Kurusu access to the end of the rope at his wrists. Feels a light tug. Pulls. Okay, that’s only made it tighter. Akechi moves his wrists closer to Kurusu’s hands, hoping he won’t have to use words again. He doesn’t. Akechi can hear the rope on Kurusu’s wrists shuffling as the boy dexterously works at the knot tying Akechi’s wrists together. He hears a low groan - the driver. He still hasn’t come to, but they don’t have much more time, and Kurusu needs to _hurry up or -_ ah, there it is.

His wrists are red from rope burn but the symptom is only visual for now, Akechi’s body pumping with adrenaline. He unties Kurusu’s binds, and gives the car one last scan - the driver’s still in his seatbelt, hanging upside down, face red from gravity’s effect, and to his side, on the ceiling, there’s an open briefcase Akechi immediately recognizes as the needles they’d used on them earlier. Two of the slots are empty, but there are three left. Akechi pulls it to him, snapping it shut. Now to get out of the car…

He can hear Akira’s quick, shallow breaths behind him as he reaches for his door and tries at the handle. The door budges just a little, but stays stuck, probably on some goddamn shifted piece of metal. Akechi leans himself back on the roof of the car, kicks _hard,_ again and _again and_ **_again_ **until it finally breaks open. He grabs onto the briefcase and squirms out of the car.

There’s shouting - right, the other car - fuck, they need to leave, **now.** Akechi stumbles up off the ground, looks back to see Akira trying to pull himself up using the broken car door. Akechi grabs his hand and pulls, running away from the shouts. There’s a harsh tug at his arm and a following dull sound as Kurusu falls into the ground, whining slightly - right, the wound in his thigh. Fuck.

Akechi kneels down, shoves the briefcase into Akira’s arms, who just glances at him with an indescribable but intense look. He links his arms under his knees and around his back, shakily pulls himself back up off the ground, and begins running as fast as carrying the weight of a boy carrying a briefcase will allow him.

It’s hard to see exactly where he’s running, his dizziness only worsening the effect of the darkness. Moonbeams slip between the trunks rushing by, that light mixes with the glare of the flashlights scouring over the trunks. Akechi can hear more yelling, some indistinct talking, the click of what might be a radio or a gun, he isn’t sure. His foot catches on a tree root at a particular steep spot and he stumbles hard, nearly dropping Kurusu in the process, but somehow he catches himself. Something catches his eye in that momentary pause.

A dent in the earth, covered by thick tree roots. Barely visible, placed in such a steep part of the hill it could almost be described as a cliff. Akechi knows he can’t outrun them, not for long, and in his state he won’t be able to fight for long - he couldn’t depend on Kurusu when the boy can’t stand on his own. The frantic footsteps sound far enough away. Akechi kneels, placing Kurusu on the ground for a moment, and grabs the briefcase. Uses the blunt metal to hit at the weaker roots, hears a snap, throws the suitcase in. Holds Kurusu, pushes him into the dirt cave - no, not a cave, it’s much too small for any animal - and Kurusu uses his arms and elbows to pull the rest of himself in. Akechi follows, crawling into the space between the roots, landing partially on Kurusu. 

He does his best to avoid Kurusu’s injury, but the space is too cramped and the moonlight too weak, and as he stumbles into the space he hears a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low whine. The footsteps grow nearer. Akechi moves to position his back against a dirt wall - a dull metal edge hits his hip - he shoves it out of the way, pulls Kurusu to his chest, covers his mouth with his hand. No noise, not now.

Through the roots, he can see the trees further down the hill illuminated by a flashlight, the circle of light big, they’re close. He holds his breath. Kurusu makes no noise, but Akechi can feel him breathing frantically against him.

_“Clear!”_

The flashlight turns away. The footsteps grow farther, far away until he can no longer distinguish them from the rest. He takes his hand away from Kurusu’s mouth, the boy sucks a breath in, clearly desperately trying to breathe at a normal rhythm. 

He’s shaking, slightly. Or maybe that’s Akechi.

It’s cold.

Eventually, the noise dies down. Distantly, tires screech as a car drives off.

It’s so cold.

Eventually, all he can hear is the wind brushing against leaves. Kurusu’s shallow, even breaths. The heartbeat ringing in his ears.

He holds Kurusu against his chest, searching for warmth. Rests his head against the dirt wall.

And eventually, he falls into an uncomfortable and uneasy rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fellas, do you ever have a drug-induced nightmare so bad your persona has to snap you out of it?
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://princekirijo.tumblr.com/)!


	5. what an epic title my dude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira POV

The birds are chirping. There’s wind, whistling through the leaves. The trickle of water. A stream, maybe. It’s all muted.

There’s something at his back. It’s warm, breathing. Akechi’s arms are wrapped around him. The air around him is cold and smells of damp dirt. The dull pain in his thigh starts coming back to life.

Akira slowly opens his eyes, adjusting to the light of day seeping in through the thick roots enclosing them in the dirt hill. Looking around, there isn’t much to see. The bandages on his leg are somewhat ruined by dirt but curiously not soaked in blood - from what Akira knew, a wound like that should be bleeding profusely. Then again, most of that knowledge came from the action movies he used to rent out from that little shop. There’s that briefcase Akechi had shoved into his arms the day before. Akira isn’t sure why Akechi brought it with them, or where he got it.

He’d been too out of it yesterday to understand much of what was happening. He’d been reliving the moments leading up to his (supposed) murder a million times over, like a neverending symphony, theme and variation after variation after variation... then he was in a car crash, crumpled on top of Akechi, then stumbling out of said broken car, falling, being picked up, dragging himself into this hole and passing out.

Akechi’s breaths are slow and steady - he must still be asleep.

Akira smiles weakly to himself. The way Akechi had talked them out of immediate execution. How he insisted Akira had to stay alive, too. How he’d landed on Akechi on the crumpled car roof - he must’ve jumped under him to protect him, there was no other explanation. And as awful as it was to be unable to run or even  _ walk  _ away from the crash, Akechi had carried him and ran away. And now, he was holding him.

Of course, these were all just logical things to do - they couldn’t have escaped unless Akechi had carried him. The body heat was preferable to the cold, damp forest air. But still, to do all that, he had to care. At least a little. Right?

Akechi slightly readjusts himself. His breathing remains slow and steady.

Akira’s eyes fall back to the briefcase. Curious, he pulls the metal thing onto his uninjured leg, quietly propping it open. 

Akechi jumps underneath him when Akira slams the briefcase back shut, the metal clack loud and abrupt. Akira shoves the briefcase off of him. He needed them _away, off, gone_ _-_

“Kurusu?”

Akira flinches at the sound, unconsciously shrinking back into Akechi, seeking safety. He immediately tears himself away when his consciousness catches up to him, the sudden movement causing a jolt of pain from the bullet wound.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to wake you, I just didn’t ex-  _ needles _ and...”

_ Steady your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay... _

“...it’s nothing. Anyway, uh...”

Akira isn’t sure what to say, actually. 

Now’s the time where he asks something like  _ ‘did you sleep well?’ _ or  _ ‘do you want any coffee?’,  _ anything to distract from Akira himself. But there was no way of having anything even resembling a normal conversation in their situation.

Akira tries to think of different ways in which to sum it up.

His supposedly dead attempted-murderer and him are sitting in a dirt cave after being kidnapped by Shido’s men and nearly executed. They then narrowly escaped thanks to his dear assassin causing a car crash, which they’d  _ somehow _ survived and  _ somehow _ escaped from despite his inability to walk.

Alternatively:

After leaving a trail of letters for his rival, Akira led him to be kidnapped by convincing him to stay the weekend for nothing more than his own selfish wishes. The next day, he got shot in the thigh, and they bonded by getting drugged and beaten in the same storage room. Now they’re on the cold forest ground, god-knows-where, running away from certain death.

...and neither of those included everything. 

So…

...

_...what now? _

“Can you walk?”

Akechi’s voice is raspy, somewhat from sleep, probably mostly from everything else. Akira can’t turn back to look at him in the small space. He opts to stare at the dirt wall ahead, focusing on a particular spot.

“I… don’t know.”

Akechi hums in acknowledgement, shifting again behind him. His arm enters his field of vision for a moment, grabbing the briefcase. He hears it clatter to the ground somewhere behind him. Then Akechi is extracting his leg from his side, moving again, and the heat behind him disappears as Akechi extracts himself from the dirt cave. Now that he’s able to, Akira turns around to see Akechi kneeling on the other side of the tree roots, holding a hand out.

Supporting himself on his arms, Akira starts crawling his way out. The muscles in his thigh scream at him to stop, but he ignores them, gritting his teeth and pulling the top half of his body out. Akechi leans forward, hooking his arms underneath Akira’s to pull the rest of him out. He grunts as he hits the forest floor face-first, the dull collision sending more pain to his leg. 

Akechi’s already standing up when he looks to his side, one hand held out for him. He grabs it, and Akechi yanks him up just a bit too fast which makes him gasp and almost fall again, but the boy holds his arms out to stabilize him. With Akechi stabilizing him, he can stand - it’s painful, there’s a dull throbbing in his thigh that seems to reach his entire leg, but he can stand. Once Akira’s fully steady, Akechi slowly takes his hands away. The pain gets a bit worse, but he can still stand. Akechi gives him a once-over before picking up the briefcase and turning around, away from where the car crash had been.

“Come on. Let’s follow the road. There must be a village somewhere around here...” And with that he starts walking off.

Akira swallows hard. Starts moving his left, injured leg, more certain that he can handle all his body weight on his healthy leg. Done. Now, his right…

Rather predictably, he falls  _ hard _ . Akechi halts in his steps, looks back and sighs just a  _ bit _ too dramatically - wasn’t his fault he got shot in the fucking leg - but he approaches anyway, kneeling beside him on the left, hooking his arm around Akira’s shoulders, pulling him back up.

* * *

* * *

The walk had turned out to be pretty short in the end. A few minutes down the road, they came across a sign marked “KOMORO - 5 KM”. Although neither of them spoke, Akechi kept readjusting himself to help Akira take off the weight on his injured leg. He was still holding the briefcase with his other hand, but Akira was decidedly ignoring that fact, instead focusing on limping along as swiftly as he could, leaning on Akechi’s arm. About an hour more of walking along hilly countryside, they reached Komoro - a small village, probably still in the Nagano prefecture. He isn’t sure - he hasn’t heard of it before.

They don’t see many people as they walk closer to the center - a few people on bikes, a few adults strolling along, groceries in hand. Akira isn’t paying much attention to their surroundings, letting Akechi lead. He can’t walk on his own, after all.

Eventually, Akechi leads them into a side street. He walks to the questionably-clean wall, and stops, guiding a very confused Akira to sit against it on the ground.

“Hey, uh, where are we?”

“Komoro. Didn’t you read the sign?”

Akira grumbles just a bit before he stops himself -  _ of course _ he’d read the sign...

“I mean, why are we in some side street. And why am I on the ground?”

“There’s a corner store here. Sit - I’ll get what we need for your leg.”

And without another word, Akechi places the briefcase on the ground, turns and walks back out of the alleyway, leaving Akira injured and alone on the dirty street floor. 

_ What we need for your leg… _

Akira looks back down to the bandages, seeing there’s some long-dried blood staining the wraps, but nothing really saturated, nothing new. Was that a good thing…? Was it infected? No, the agents had only wrapped his leg once Akechi convinced them he had to stay alive - so they probably cleaned it up, disinfected and wrapped it properly. So it was fine. Most likely.

He slumps a bit against the wall, slightly reassured by the thought. He glances at the briefcase next to him. The sight sends a familiar sense of dread to his gut. Ripping his gaze away, he focuses on the brick wall ahead.

_What now?_

… what now?

He’d thought of running away a few times when he was younger. He was always taking care of himself anyway, and he hated it when their voices got loud, and the thought of starting over on his own… well, that was in the past. Still, he can remember reading the articles.

First suggestion - stay at a friend’s house, stay off the street. Disadvantage : friend’s family could become legally involved. Doesn’t matter, no friends here.

Second - save up and bring money. Right, money, they couldn’t do much without that.

Akira moves to his coat pockets, searching for his wallet. Nothing. Of course they’d take whatever was on them.

His thoughts are cut off as Akechi walks back around the corner, an unfamiliar backpack in hand. Wait -

“Did you steal that?”

“What do you think, Kurusu?”

Akira is hit with a pang of guilt - this is such a small town, the corner store is probably already struggling, and god knows how much Akechi took, and what if they’d seen him -

“Weren’t you the leader of a group of thieves?” Akechi’s tone is curt, impatient.

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between stealing the manifestation of shitty people’s hearts in an alternate dimension, and _actual_ _shoplifting._ ”

“Oh, I see. Just like how there’s a difference between stealing what you need to survive and dying?”

Akechi sneers when Akira glares at him. He was right, but…  _ god _ , did he have to be such an asshole about it? 

_ Of course he does. It’s Akechi. _

Akechi kneels down next to the briefcase, snapping it open to reveal - Akira rips his gaze away. After some shuffling, Akechi walks past him, disposing of the empty briefcase in a nearby dumpster. He kneels next to him next, slinging Akira’s arm over his shoulders and pulling him back up, the stolen backpack full of stolen goods slung over his other shoulder. 

* * *

* * *

They end up at a garden outside a small temple, probably the only one this village has. Akechi sits Akira down at a bench, kneeling in front of him and pulling the backpack to his side, opening it. Akechi then brings his attention back to him, guiding him to lie across the bench - keeping his leg level with the rest of him, makes sense for the distribution of blood pressure.

It’s harder to see him now at the awkward angle, but Akira can still see the outline of a water bottle. He hisses through grit teeth when Akechi starts unwrapping the bindings on his thigh, mostly exposing the wound to the cold air, the only barrier left being his pants. He screws his eyes shut. He feels a tug at his pants at the same time that Akechi speaks.

“I need to get to the wound.”

Akira swallows thickly -  _ of course _ he had to get shot in the thigh, and  _ of course _ it had to be Akechi here. Probably sensing his discomfort, Akechi moves around - oh, he’s removing his jacket. His voice sounds different, somehow.

“Here, wear this if you want, I just - need to get to the wound.”

Yeah, he needs to get to the wound, come on, get over yourself. Before he can think too hard on it, Akira pulls his pants to his knees, hissing slightly when the fabric drags over the gunshot wound, immediately shooting his arm out to drape Akechi’s coat over himself.

_...that wasn’t that bad. _

Akechi is shuffling around, muttering to himself - Akira tries to catch some of it.

“...doesn’t look infected … hm, intact … minor. Won’t remove … more harm than good…”

The emotional discomfort from earlier is immediately replaced with the disorienting mix of heat, cold, and pain as Akechi pours water on the wound. He resolutely focuses on his breathing, trying to force his body to calm down. Akechi continues.

There was stinging at some point - disinfectant, surely - and eventually, he feels fresh bandages being wrapped around him, this time directly on his skin. Akechi sighs, and when Akira opens his eyes back up, he sees him sitting cross-legged on the dirt ground. Okay, it’s over - Akira immediately reaches for his pants.

“It’s a minor wound. It isn’t bleeding anymore, which is good. Given how minor of a wound it is, it would be idiotic to remove the bullet - the damage has already been done. You should be fine in about… ten days, I’d estimate.”

“ _ Ten _ days? That’s like, nothing.”

“Trust me, Kurusu - I know what I’m talking about.”

Oh, right. He didn’t have anyone with him in the metaverse. He must’ve been healing himself, then. Had he been shot outside of the metaverse...?

As Akira sits back up normally, Akechi moves to take a seat at the other end of the bench.

They sit in silence for a while, the unresolved question hanging in the air:

**_What now?_ **

At some point, Akechi abruptly gets up, walking to a nearby pinboard Akira had noticed earlier. He comes back with a few flyers in hand, and though Akira couldn’t make out the kanji from that far away, he can see them more clearly here - job applications.

“Let’s find ourselves someplace to stay, hm, Kurusu?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg! A Conversation?
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/princekirijo)!


	6. a truly amazing title

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akechi POV

Kurusu was in no condition to walk on his own yet, but he could limp along with Akechi’s support. And for now, that would have to do. From his end of the bench, Akechi looks down at the cheap paper flyers creasing from where his hand is gripping them. 

_Help requested - come join the staff at the KOMORO INN!_

___

_Bar workers needed._

___

_Positions open at Quick Corner._

Akechi instantly recognizes the third name as the small shop from earlier that day. The fact that there was just a single worker _did_ make it easier to get what he needed. 

Those were the only 3 flyers on the dashboard - it was a pretty small town, after all. He folds them and shoves them into his coat pocket to get up from the bench and hold his hand out to Kurusu. As the boy shakily gets up, Akechi grabs his arm and guides it over his shoulders, then sets off, back to the streets. 

* * *

Komoro isn’t too hard to walk around. Or at least it wouldn’t be if they could both walk. The town is small enough that the addresses printed on the flyers aren’t too hard to find. Akechi finds the hotel first - it’s the nicest building around, and everything else in the town centre seemed to lead toward it. The parlor doesn’t look like anything special when he drags Kurusu in beside him. 

Speaking of Kurusu, the boy is putting up a hell of a fight to seem as calm and collected as possible with a recent gunshot wound. Still, he doesn’t miss the little grunts of pain, the sucked in breaths, the occasional stumble. That's how it'd been for him too, at the beginning. Smiling for the camera after a night trip to mementos… of course, that wasn't a problem for him anymore.

"Hi! Can I help you with anything?"

_Snap back to it._

He hadn't even seen her approach - short, well dressed - the receptionist.

"Yes. We heard about some job openings here?"

"Ah, of course! Come to the counter, I'll have you both fill out some forms."

Akechi tightens his grip on Kurusu as they limp to the counter. The receptionist is shuffling around papers in cabinets. Eventually she straightens back up to face them, a bright smile on her face. A smile that changes to a frown when she glances down to Kurusu's leg.

"Ohh, that looks painful… what happened to you?"

"Ah - uh - it's, uh, it's complicated."

Kurusu finishes his painful excuse for an answer with a nervous chuckle and Akechi thinks he might've kicked him for it in an alternate universe where there wasn't a bullet in his thigh. The receptionist hums her understanding, or lack thereof, accepting the pitiful response. Her heels make an annoying clacking sound on the marble floor as she walks back to her station. He readjusts his grip on Kurusu’s side, and leads them towards the counter. The pens and papers are already all laid out when they get there.

“We can start the interview after you fill these in.”

Akechi unhooks Kurusu’s arm from his shoulders, making sure he can stand on his own with the support of the counter before directing his attention to the questionnaire. Full name… phone number… address…

_Fuck._

“Haha, actually, do you think we could skip directly to the interview?”

“I’m sorry, the forms are a necessary step.”

“Ah, I see.”

**_Fuck._ **

The receptionist’s eyebrows furrow, and she tilts her head to the side just ever-so-slightly. It’s cute. He imagines snapping her neck. In a questioning, almost concerned voice, the receptionist speaks again.

“Is there a reason you don’t want to complete the form?”

Yes, I don’t have a phone number or an address and I’m supposedly dead.

“Wait.”

The receptionist narrows her eyes now. She sounds much more suspicious than concerned.

“Are you two… running away?“

**_FUCK._ **

Akechi’s mind runs through a hundred different ways to escape in a second, many of which are violent, but he settles on a reasonable one quickly enough.

The counter between them serves him well - he kicks Kurusu’s injured leg on the shin, a small little jab that wouldn’t be visible to the lady.

_“ Ah! Wh-”_

Kicks again.

“ _Hhng-_ ”

The second kick throws him off balance, but he catches the boy before he can fall. He looks at him with plastic concern, but his eyes are intense.

“Kurusu-kun! Are you okay?”

_Come on._

Kurusu’s eyes move from shock, to composure, to confusion. Back to composure. And then, to plastic agony.

“N-no… no I - _ah -_ need help, help-”

The few other people in the lobby start crowding around them, all talking over each other, and Akechi just wants them to shut up, _shut up-_

The receptionist is there too, reaching for the phone. Fuck, no -

“No! No, he’s fine, this is… it’s psychological, he just needs - _space,_ we need to leave.”

The crowd around them starts muttering excitedly, some have the common decency to disperse. He kneels down to Kurusu, hoists him with one arm under his knees and the other around his back. The extra weight throws him off balance and he almost stumbles on his way back up but he catches himself. They’re still circled by people.

**”Move. Now!”**

He pushes forward as the people between them and the door recoil _._ When he swings the door open, the receptionist calls something out to them, but she’s cut off as the door snaps shut and the bell chimes behind them. 

* * *

“Well. That was -”

“Yes, it was. Let’s move on, shall we?”

Yes, it was bad. There was no need to point it out. The noise and the people had only caused his irritable state to grow worse. The last thing he needed after a near-death experience with his rival was to be forced to deal with the common idiocy. 

“So… should we even bother trying anything else?”

“I don’t think we have much of another choice, Kurusu.”

“...I guess not.”

Their other choice is to find some somewhat-sheltered place to stay in for the time it takes Kurusu’s wound to heal, though that may elongate the healing process and require a lot more shoplifting, which while Akechi didn’t mind, he’d prefer to avoid. He takes the remaining 2 flyers out of his coat pocket - the hotel one had been torn to pieces in the nearest garbage can from the door. Working at the supermarket he stole from, sounds, well. Awful. They’ll take their shot at that bar first.

The walk there isn’t strenuous or long, though Akechi knows Kurusu’s leg is only getting worse the longer they walk. It’s uncomfortably quiet. Akechi knows that’s his doing, and he’s glad, because he has nothing to say to him. Kurusu tries striking up a conversation about bartending at some red light district bar, Crossroads, and Akechi lets himself indulge for just a bit too long before catching himself and swiftly cutting the conversation off. 

They make it to the bar eventually - though it barely looks like one. There’s an old, cracked wooden sign over the door with faded paint that reads **OMONI**. The windows are too dirty to properly see through, though it does seem some light is shining through from the inside. So they’re open…?

Kurusu nudges his body weight forward - Akechi had been standing and staring too long, _do_ something you _idiot_ -

“Let’s head in?”

Kurusu’s calm voice and serene little smile is a stark contrast from the internal screaming, so much so that Akechi almost jumps. He shoves forward, immediately trying to mentally recover from the near slip-up in composure. Kurusu’s hopping on his good leg, flailing in his hold as he tries to recover from the sudden movement. He’s still stumbling when Akechi pushes the wooden door open and brings them into the establishment. 

It’s empty, dimly lit, and somewhat chilly. There are a few round tables surrounded by stools on the left, and more of the same wooden stools against the bar counter. The shelves on the wall hold more dust than bottles, but the collection is there. There’s a spiral staircase leading up tucked away in the far corner of the room, blocked off with a short stretch of tape and a handwritten piece of paper with kanji that read _UNDER CONSTRUCTION._ Kurusu stabilized himself against him since their entrance, though he is still injured. Akechi guides him to one of the nearby stools and sets him there gently. 

Right then, the door to what’s probably the storage closet swings open as a stout-looking man pushes his back against it, holding a bucket and a mop in his arms, humming to himself. He almost drops the bucket when he sees the two of them in his shop, but he quickly recovers, setting the bucket down and dusting off his apron.

“Hi! What can I get you two gentlemen today?”

His voice emanates glee, and he’s shuffling around to dust the counter off, reaching for two glasses-

“Actually, we’re here about a job posting…?”

His face falls and his motions slow, then stop. 

“Ah. About that, I’m… not hiring anymore. Could really use the help, but, I just don’t have the money to pay anyone. Not like there are many customers to serve… anyway, sorry about that.”

“Actually, we aren’t looking for money. We’re looking to work for room and board.”

The man’s demeanor changes somewhat. Confusion, dejection…? He steps out from behind the counter to stand at a respectful distance from the two of them. 

“Ha, well, don’t think I can offer you that either, unless you’re alright with sleeping on the floor upstairs.”

“We are, actually.”

It takes the barkeep a moment to answer. Is he being too forward..? Maybe he should dial it back, he _can’t_ scare this one away… still, the man seems somewhat tempted. He walks to the round little wooden table to sit across from Kurusu, pulling a chair back as an invitation for Akechi before sitting down himself. Akechi sits. 

“You seem awfully desperate.”

“I can work on cleaning, advertising, the likes. And he,” he jabs a finger at Kurusu, “has experience working at a bar in Tokyo’s red light district.”

“And you’re looking to work for _just_ room and board?”

“Yes.”

There’s a tense silence. The conversation feels like a trap somehow, for the both of them most likely, a battle of wits, with a hint of desperation and disbelief. The man’s eyes glint with the reflection of one of the ceiling lights, warm yellow against blue, as he leans forward, finally breaking the silence.

“You’re running away, aren’t you.”

“Ah-” Goro starts immediately, desperate to turn the conversation back into his favor, but he has nothing to say. The man’s gaze pierces through him. Akechi almost forgets Kurusu is there too, and for the brief second he remembers he looks over to find him looking… as neutral as ever. How does he do that…? Bringing his gaze back to the man, he sits there and stares, paralyzed. 

“I understand. I had to escape my home too, back when I was young like you. And you, they hurt you, didn’t they?”

Kurusu’s face is neutral to the untrained eye, but Akechi knows him well enough to notice the slight change in his eyes when the man turns to him with that question. He nods.

“Look, I can’t offer you much. I meant it, about the money. But I can give you a place to stay, at least for now. Come upstairs.”

And without another word, the man gets up and heads towards the staircase to rip off the piece of tape barring the passage. Akechi looks over at Kurusu, who’s already looking at him. If he’s reading that expression right, they’re on the same page - tentative, and they have nowhere else to go. The man probably knows as much. He walks around the table to kneel at Akira’s side, linking his arm around his shoulders to hoist him upstairs, where the man’s already headed. The man who still hasn’t introduced himself…

There’s even more dust in the attic, somehow. There are some more chairs and tables of the same type as downstairs, though they aren’t set up in any particular order. It’s cold up here. There’s no sign of any blankets or anything. Goro had grabbed two sleeping bags from the small convenience store, and well, he got what he paid for - cheap, thin material. Maybe nothing _would_ be better, in this case.

“Well, uh, shop opens up at 1. I assume you’ll be up by then, but if you aren’t, I’ll just let you sleep-”

“No no, we want to help.” 

Kurusu is as eager as ever to be the good samaritan, the oh-so-wonderful boy, empathetic to a fault. Infuriatingly hard to hate. And willing to speak for Akechi, apparently. Not that he’s wrong, he _does_ want to earn their keep one way or another. Maybe he’s just tired…

“Yes, we’ll be up and helping by then. Thank you again for your help.”

The man nods at them both, and walks back downstairs. Akechi’s listening, waiting to hear the door close when instead he hears steps scurrying back up the stairs.

“Right! Thought I should say I only have one key, so, you’re locked in ‘til 1. That’s all. Alright, goodnight.”

When he heads back downstairs this time, Akechi hears the door close and lock. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

* * *

The two of them had looked around the attic for a while, hoping to find anything resembling blankets and pillows. They’d been unsuccessful. Somehow, the cold bit into his skin more than before. He’d handed a stolen protein bar to Kurusu, who took it wordlessly, though Akechi didn’t miss the disapproval in his eyes. He’d rolled his eyes, though he was too tired to start anything. So instead they’re lying there, one in each thin sleeping bag, a few meters away from each other on the floor.

It’s cold.

He hears some plastic material ruffling, then Kurusu sucking in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just - my leg - and the cold.”

Silence.

“Hey, Akechi?”

“Mm?”

“...no, nothing.”

Akechi turns on his side, closes his eyes, doesn’t wonder what Kurusu had to say, and eventually, drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my loves, i'm sorry for my cryptic disappearance for, what was it, almost 2 months? I'm simultaneously really happy to have this many readers and absolutely TERRIFIED because, christ I mean I don't feel like my writing is... worthy? gah anyway I hope this chapter is alright, I've been chipping away at it for a while but HEY now I've got the things I wanna set up set up, and I can write some sweet sweet character interaction >:))
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://arc-el-ion.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/Arc_el_ion) <3
> 
> Beta'd by Prince, my dearest muscle twink and milf confidant. Go talk to her [here](https://princekirijo.tumblr.com/)!


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